WindDeceiver (18 page)

“Goddamn it, Shalu!”

“Goddamn it, right back! If you hadn’t slunk off like a scalded dog, none of us would be here!”

“I didn’t slink!”

“You

practically

slithered!”

“Are you calling me a coward?”

“If the breeches fit, wear them! But then you have had the hardest time of any man I know in keeping your gods-be-damned breeches on!”

Rachel’s brows shot up.

“Don’t start with me, Taborn!”

“Don’t

start

with

me
! You don’t see me knocking up every woman I lay with!”

Asher’s brows drew together.

“Just shut the hell up!”

“If you can’t take the criticism, don’t start it! It wasn’t me that got that outer kingdom woman with child!”

Yuri came to his feet.

Sajin sat down.

“I told you I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“You never do, but it seems to get done, now, doesn’t it? Did it ever occur to you to ask if a woman wants you seeding her belly with your get?”

“Catherine didn’t seem to mind!”

Rachel

giggled.

Asher

growled.

Yuri

gasped.

Sajin

groaned.

“Are you two aware that everyone in the camp is privy to what you are discussing?” Balizar asked as he stuck his head in the tent.

Conar’s face drained of all its coloring. “Yuri heard?”

“Aye, he heard,” Balizar announced, withdrawing.

An overwhelming urge to puke made Conar sit back down on his pallet and bury his face in his hands. “Sweet Alel, the man is going to neuter me for you.”

Shalu looked up as the tent flap was thrust angrily aside. He held up his hand. “They are married.”

Yuri stumbled, taken completely off guard by the Necroman’s words. “When?” he shifted his gaze to Conar’s bent head. “When?”

“On board the ship,” Shalu answered for his young friend. As Yuri’s face began to crease into a smile, Shalu put an immediate stop to the elation. “He still means to give her to the man outside.”

Yuri stared at Shalu. “To who?”

WINDDECEIVER Charlotte Boyett-Compo 83

“The pog,” Shalu answered, hearing Conar’s slight groan of despair.

“Sajin?” Yuri ground out. “He is going to give her to Sajin?”

“He is laboring under the ridiculous assumption that if she stays with him, she will wind up as the other women in his life have wound up.”

“I know that,” Yuri grumbled, taking a step into the tent. “Is this true, Conar? Do you still want to throw her away?”

Conar looked up. “I am not ‘throwing’ her away, Andreanova. I am doing what is best for Catherine.”

Yuri looked at him for a long moment without speaking and then nodded once, turning on his heel. He pushed aside the tent flap, stopped, and spoke over his shoulder.

“Prince Sajin will be a better husband for her. He would never think to let another man take what is his by right.”

Shalu glanced down at Conar as Yuri left the tent, trying to gauge the depth of the direct hit that had struck Conar McGregor’s heart. There was not even a flicker of pain on the still face; no hurt in the steady gaze. Even as the young man came to his feet, there was no groan of weariness or defeat or hopelessness.

“Where are they, do you know?” was all he asked. At Shalu’s look of confusion, he clarified his question. “The others. Our men.”

“The last I heard of them, they were in Asaraba. I spoke to a man there who says they left in search of you with a retired militiamen from the Rysalian army.”

Conar pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “They could be anywhere, then.”

“Chase Montyne and Storm Jale are here, too,” Shalu admitted, thinking while Conar seemed calm enough, he’d better tell him the whole of it.

“Chase is about ten miles from here,” Conar told him, going to a table to pour himself a glass of cool water. He took a long drink and then stood where he was, staring off into space.

“Storm is dead.”

Shalu drew in a harsh breath. “How?”

Conar took another drink, then held the glass against his cheek. His bleak eyes slid slowly to Shalu’s stunned cinnamon stare. “He was beaten to death.”

Fury leapt into the Necroman’s face. “Who?”

“The man responsible is dead, but those who employed him own a quarry not far from here.

We attack the quarry in two days.” He rubbed the cool glass across his forehead where one of his violent headaches was beginning.

“There won’t be a slave left in that quarry when I am through.”

“I am sorry, my friend,” Shalu said, meaning it. “Jale was a good man.”

“He was our traitor,” Conar informed the Necroman. At the gasp of disbelief, he nodded.

“He told me so himself.”

The older man slowly sank to the only stool in the tent. “I would not have thought it,” he whispered, staring down at the floor. “Edan, yes, but Storm?” He looked up. “Never!”

“I have a feeling there is more to Edan that we know, too,” Conar told him.

“Another traitor?” Shalu gasped.

Conar shook his head. “Not at all, but when you get a chance, look at Balizar’s right arm.

He has a birthmark that is identical to Marsh’s.”

“He is Edan’s father?” Shalu was having a hard time comprehending these new revelations.

WINDDECEIVER Charlotte Boyett-Compo 84

“Uncle.” Conar smiled. “Unless I totally miss my guess, Marsh is Hern’s son, and what is more, he knows it.”

WINDDECEIVER Charlotte Boyett-Compo 85

The Necroman’s dark face was split with a wicked grin as he plopped down beside Yuri Andreanova. He handed the Outer Kingdom warrior his skin of water, then fell back on the sand to stare up into the bright glare of the early afternoon sun.

“This country reminds me of the deserts in my own country.” He sighed with pleasure.

“Have you such places in your homeland, Andreanova?”

Yuri took a long drink of the tepid water, then armed the sweat from his brow. “Yes, but I’ll be damned if it is as hot in Afgun as it is in this miserable place.” He turned his head and watched the long column of men making their way out of the quarry yards. “We did good today, eh, Taborn?”

Shalu smiled, actually smiled, then lifted his head to look at the liberated slaves. “Aye, my friend. We have done especially well this day.” He laid his head back down in the sand. “Any time men can be freed of their chains is a good day, indeed.”

Yuri took another drink of water, then handed the skin to Shalu. “My people were enslaved, too, many years before the Cataclysmic War. Not to slave owners, but to our own government.”

Shalu closed his eyes. “Much as Conar’s homeland was enslaved to theirs when he was away.”

The Shadow-warrior turned to look down at the Necroman. “Do you really think he will give her to the pog?”

Shalu opened one eye and looked up at his companion. “What do you think, Andreanova?

Given the pain our young friend as endured in his lifetime, do you think he is jesting when he says he can not abide another dying because of him?”

“No,” Yuri answered, looking away. “I understand that. It’s just that they are so suited to one another. So perfect a couple. They should be together.”

“If it is the gods’ will, they will be,” Shalu sighed, sitting up. “I can not think They mean to keep Conar miserable all his life.”

Yuri watched a wagon load of freed quarry slaves roll by. He lifted a hand in greeting to those who called out their gratitude. “Keep safe, my friends!” he yelled at them.

“How many slavers did we kill, I wonder?” Shalu asked, glancing about at the carnage sprawled on the hot desert sands.

“Enough to make the others think twice about jousting with the men of the Samiel,” Balizar commented as he joined them. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “What do you know of the lad’s headaches, Taborn?”

Shalu’s cinnamon face crinkled with a frown. “Another one?”

“He’s near to passing out with the pain of it and won’t let Rupine give him anything. How do you deal with him when he goes stubborn on you like this?”

Yuri chuckled. “You don’t, comrade.” He got up and dusted the sand from his breeches.

“You just pick his scrawny little ass up and put him to bed.”

Shalu snorted. “If he’ll let you.” He, too, stood up. “It depends on how bad the pain gets before he’ll admit he can’t deal with it.”

Balizar’s jaw clenched. “His nose is bleeding.”

Shalu exchanged a look with Yuri. “That’s not a good sign,” Yuri commented.

WINDDECEIVER Charlotte Boyett-Compo 86

“Took eight men down before I even knew he was sick,” Balizar said with disgust. “Then another four before he went to his knees.” He shook his head. “The man growled at me when I went to his aid, then stumbled to his feet and lopped the head off a slaver who dared to try to run Asher through from behind. If Asher hadn’t caught him, the lad would have impaled himself on his own sword before he collapsed.”

“Too much pride,” Shalu scoffed. “That’s always been his problem.” He looked about him, sighing with disgust. “Where is he?”

“Interrogating some of the slave wardens. He’s trying to find out where to look for the owner of the quarry,” Balizar answered.

Shalu nodded. “And the brat will find him, I’ve no doubt.” He looped the strap of his water skin over his shoulder. “Let’s go get him.”

Rachel helped a wounded slave onto an oxen cart and then smiled at the helpless fellow.

“Take care of that leg, Heltrane,” she told him.

“I will be back to join the Samiel, my lady,” the man swore. “As soon as my leg is mended.”

“We can use every man we can get,” Rupine, the physician, said. He winced at the meaty thud that came from the shack behind them then turned a baleful eye to Rachel. “He’s going to kill the bastard before we find out anything useful.”

“I’ll go in,” Rachel answered. “Maybe I can temper that anger of his.”

“Good luck,” Rupine said.

As she entered the work shack, Rachel was not surprised to see the man she knew as Khamsin bending over his prisoner, a powerful sword hand wrapped around the hapless man’s throat. She glanced at her brother, then at Prince Sajin Ben-Alkazar, before shutting the door behind her.

“Where?” Conar shouted, digging his fingers in the sweaty column of the slave warden’s neck. “Before, Alel, I’ll strangle you if you don’t tell me!”

“I suggest you do or he will snap your neck in twain like a twig,” Asher warned. “I’ve seen him do it enough times to know he won’t hesitate.”

The slave warden’s face was already a deep scarlet and he was gasping mightily for breath that could not flow into his lungs for the constriction at his throat. Seeing his own eminent death in those alien sapphire orbs glaring down at him, he knew he’d held out for as long as he dared. The man whose strong hand was slowly crushing his windpipe would not be denied.

“He--is--visiting--the--Prince,” the warden choked out. “At--Abbadon.”

Conar’s grip tightened, his thumb digging cruelly into the soft hollow at the base of the man’s throat. “How many more slaves does he own?”

Rachel knew neither her brother nor Prince Sajin would dare interfere with Khamsin, but she could not allow him to murder the man. She walked to him and put a light, caressing hand on Conar’s arm. Conar’s head snapped around and his face turned bitter, but Rachel’s soft voice calmed the beast in him.

“You are strangling him, Khamsin.” Gently, she reached out to pry Conar’s rigid hand from the prisoner’s throat, then kept that hard hand in her own.

“Give him a chance to tell you what he knows.”

Gasping for breath, gagging with the effort, the warden managed to look up with hearty gratefulness. “Thank-- you-- my-- lady,” he croaked.

“I suggest you tell him what he wants to know,” Rachel replied. “He is not a patient man.”

WINDDECEIVER Charlotte Boyett-Compo 87

A flash of annoyance shot across Conar’s face, but he stepped back, glaring at Rachel’s calm look. He opened his mouth to berate her for her interference, but she only smiled at him.

“You need not thank me, Khamsin,” she told him.

“Thank you?” Conar hissed, his eyes flaring.

Rachel’s smile widened. “You are welcome.”

Sajin turned his head away to keep from letting the others see the laughter building. He bit his lip, striving hard not to allow the snort of humor to escape. He knew if he looked at Asher, who seemed to be having the same reaction to his sister’s words as Conar was, he would laugh out loud.

Something moved through the glare Conar was directing at the young woman and then slipped away. His face relaxed and the smile he bestowed on her was one filled with the promise of retaliation. He turned away from her and focused his attention on the prisoner.

“Well?” Conar snarled.

The warden’s shoulder slumped with defeat. He had to clear his throat several times before he could speak and even then, his voice was hoarse. Speaking seemed to pain him, but he did not let the bruises on his throat stop him from telling the man called Khamsin what he wished to know.

“Sheik Abdul has fifty house slaves and another twenty who tend his gardens in Cair,” the warden explained. “I believe there are a dozen or more concubines he keeps and perhaps that many eunuchs who guard the women.”

Rachel’s smile turned hard. “How many children?”

The warden looked at her. “Ten. Maybe more.”

Conar hissed and would have grabbed the man again had Rachel not stepped in his way. He would have shoved her aside had the woman not turned to stare at him, daring him to touch her.

He balled his hands into fists, but did no more than glare down at her, his breath coming in deep, quivering intakes of outrage.